3:55 p.m. Eastend

The Watcher shifted, body aching from yesterday’s visitation.

“Hello. This is Sheila Drysdale. How may help?”

“Hello,” Harry replied into his cell phone. “My name’s Harold Holt. I’m calling to confirm the arrival of my wife, Rachel and I, for Saturday.”

“Certainly, sir. Holmes, was it?”

“Holt, H-O-L-T, Harold and Rachel.” The Watcher closed his eyes. Concentrated. “It’s Sheila, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

A picture flashed through his mind. An attractive woman in a business suit. “Nice to meet you, Sheila.” He clenched the phone. Direct connection was necessary for success, be it touch, eye-lock or an electrical link. Power surged through his body and into Sheila.

“Now, add Rachel and Harold Holt to your list.” In his mind, the Watcher envisioned a pen spelling out their names on the Ministry’s list of approved guests.

“Rachel and Harold Holt,” Sheila repeated dully.

“That’s right. All security checks completed. Arriving Saturday afternoon.” He hung up, depleted.

Rachel arrived with coffee. “Really think you should see a doctor. You still look pretty bad.”

“Told you already,” he snapped. “No doctors!” He tried to take a sip. Hand shook too much. “I’m fine. Come on,” he said, tossing the coffee. “Owe you a real drink.”

“Now you’re talking.”